Sammen
by Meepinstein
Summary: Companion fic to Core. Collection of oneshots and adventures featuring various pairings and subjects. Contains OC, rated for themes.


Found the beginning of the series of experimental tales among some documents. The things said within are not, as of the moment, related to the storyline of Core, although may influence decisions made in that fic. In other words, this is for funsies. Input is appreciated. As before, translations at the end of the chapter.

Recommended Listening: "Lost Kitten" - Metric

**I own nothing you recognize.**

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_Don't say yes if you can't say no,_

_Victim of the system, say it isn't so_

_Squatted on the doorstep, swallowed all the blow_

_Leaving without you, can't say no_

She was drunk. Entirely and thoroughly drunk. The only reason he could tell was the fact that the glasses hadn't been cleared away. A cocktail shaker was overturned on the table, melting ice dripping through the screen and she hadn't bothered to return it to its proper upright position. Instead, her cheek was pressed to the table as she examined each bottle lying nearby, perhaps contemplating which combination to create next.

She was also wearing a work outfit – high-waisted shorts and a bandeau of fabric that only covered what was necessary. She was still wearing ankle braces and was absently preoccupied with kicking her legs. When he walked around and sat opposite her, she looked up and rested her chin on her fist.

_Halfway starts with happiness for me_

_Halfway house, lost kitten in the street_

_Hit me where it hurts, I'm coming home to lose_

_Kitten on the catwalk, high-heeled shoes_

"So..." He counted the shot glasses lining the table. There were ten, which given the fact that she was slim was more than enough. There were also several bottles that he remembered having been brand new yesterday were more empty than they should have been, suggesting that she'd simply tipped them back. "How long have yeh been here?"

Adeline had started to slur her answer in Danish, but caught herself. "Oh...I dunno. Since I got home from work...? Something of that nature." So not too long. "Why are you visiting me here?"

Pickles scoffed lightly. "Because yer keeled over a table."

"Not...keeled." In spite of her intoxication, she sounded faintly bored. "I was...contemplating..."

"Thinking? Pretty sure that's not healthy."

"But, seriously" - she paused a moment to light a cigarette and ash it into the nearest glass - "What brings you around?"

_No more hot-headed Saturdays,_

_They got it, they want it, they give it away_

_Tell me one thing you would never do_

_I was looking for a hooker when I found you_

Probably frustration. From the first day they'd met he'd wanted her. Hell, he'd nearly had her. She'd been in his damn lap and had, although it had been an accident, more than brushed up against certain parts of his anatomy with her toned dancer's ass.

Normally, he would have gone out and got himself a prostitute or a starfucker that resembled a woman he couldn't have. It was easier said than done, since girls with grabber green hair were in short supply. He watched her suck the cigarette a few times before shrugging it off as he wanted to get drunk.

"Ja, hvad end." She plucked a pony glass from among the plain shot glasses and shook it a few times, flinging alcohol droplets onto the floor. When this didn't yield the results she wanted, she poked her tongue into it, ignorant of the fact that it made him swallow hard. He cleared his throat as he slid the bottle of vodka over to his side of the table and poured some into the glass that had just been licked clean.

"Um...what're yeh thinkin about?"

"Thinking about?" Adeline glanced down at the mixture of ash and dregs in the glass. For a few moments she seemed unsure herself. "Well...you see...I've got a problem. I'm twenty six, I'm a stripper, and all my friends hate me. Let's fuck."

_You've got my eyes, you've got my eyes_

_You'll never be mine, ah, but you've got my eyes_

_When you lie, I cover it up_

_When you hide, I cover it up_

_When you cry, I cover it up_

_When you come undone, I cover it up_

_So pent up, I was coming on to you_

_Happy in the nighttime, howlin' at the moon_

_Sippin' on a cocktail, drinking in the loo_

_There's something about you I hold on to_

Of course, the quiet ones. But it still came as a surprise that she tried to bury her problems in others' sheets. "Are...are yeh serious?"

Her blue-gray eyes bored into him. "Why the dick wouldn't I be?" Adeline sounded faintly annoyed. "I don't say things I don't mean, dummy." She stubbed out her cigarette lazily into the pony glass and stood then walked around to the other side of the table.

His mind had hit a rut. He was still trying to process the fact that she was coming onto him and was now sitting on the very edge of his lap, reminiscent of the time they'd first met. "Adeline-"

"Hold kæft, yuppie," she interrupted, ungracefully placing a palm over his mouth and closing her eyes for a few moments. "Just...shut it, you know? You talk too much. It's bothersome..." Adeline pinched the bridge of her nose before turning sideways and throwing an arm over his shoulders. "So...hold kæft and keep a secret... Our secret, ja?"

He picked her thin frame up easily and swept everything off the table, shattering several objects. No one had heard, he told himself after the mighty crash, the place is huge. He looked at the Dane sprawled beneath him, peering up at him through her bangs, her legs already wrapped around his waist, her dancer's outfit leaving nothing to the imagination. No one would know. It wasn't anything...serious.

She was murmuring something in Danish to him and he only caught one word and it was the only word he needed to catch because there was no throaty ethnic way to say it, except maybe her lips pursed a bit more and invoked certain images in the back of his mind. His mind was a frenzy. Everything was teal and orange and the feeling of her nails in his back and her moans in his ear and tattoos of rabid dogs flipping the bird and natural Scandinavian blonde. He always liked blondes. Everyone did. And everyone liked little dancers with heavy eyes and sweet things to say and she was just that, just another dancer. He had to tell himself that – just another dancer – over and over. She was too nice. He couldn't put her into competition with other girls, couldn't trust himself to be a one-woman man.

Just another dancer.

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Ja, hvad end - yeah, whatever

Hold kæft - shut up


End file.
